


Like It's Your Birthday

by handahbear



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Birthdays, For Sarah, I don't even know anymore I really don't, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handahbear/pseuds/handahbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like he meant to almost set the entire kitchen on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like It's Your Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endofnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofnight/gifts).



> For Sarah, as always.

There is a reason that Grantaire doesn’t bake. The extent of his culinary ability is toast, slightly burnt. Therefore, he shouldn’t really have been surprised when he almost burns down the kitchen trying to bake Enjolras a birthday cake. It’s his fault, really; he got distracted, and forgot about it entirely, causing it to turn into a roundish glob of char.

Enjolras returned how to find him standing on a kitchen chair, waving a dish towel at the smoke alarm, trying in vain to get it to stop shrieking. The oven was smoking, the kitchen was a mess, and Enjolras had only been gone for two hours. This is what he came home to.

“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?” he sighed fondly. “What on earth were you trying to do?”

Grantaire finally succeeded in quieting the smoke alarm and stepped down from the chair. “I was attempting to make you a cake,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, it didn’t work out…”

“You think?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think the only thing I didn’t burn was the frosting,” he said sheepishly, holding out a bowl of powdered-sugar frosting. “I think this is the only thing I didn’t manage to screw up…”

Enjolras dipped his finger into the bowl, tasting it. “It’s not bad,” he smiled. Grantaire rolled his eyes, shoving the bowl at him. He turned to begin cleaning up this mess, only to have something land smack-dab in the middle of his back.

“I swear to God, Enjolras, if that was frosting, so help me-” He turned around just in time for the next bit of frosting to land on his cheek. He blinked rapidly, slightly confused as to what was going on.

Enjolras burst out laughing.

“You think this is funny?” Grantaire asked, beginning to laugh. “I slave away for you, and this is the thanks I get?” He reached behind him, looking for something to throw back. He found the bag of powdered sugar, and threw a handful at Enjolras. It mostly landed on the floor, but the front of Enjolras’s shirt had a dusting of white powder.

Before long, their food fight had escalated, and the kitchen was, if possible, even more of a mess than before.

“Truce, truce!” Grantaire cried. He’d run out of powdered sugar. “I think there’s frosting in my hair…”

Enjolras smiled. “Truce,” he agreed, brushing powdered sugar from his shirt.

“I think I need to shower,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, only succeeding in smearing the frosting. He made a small sound of disgust. “Lovely.”

Enjolras wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “A shower sounds like a fantastic idea.”

And, of course, for them, a shower is rarely ever just a shower.

This ends as many others have, with Grantaire flushed and breathing heavily, legs wrapped around Enjolras’s waist as he fucks him, bruises sucked onto his neck, and he comes with Enjolras, his name on his lips.

“Happy birthday,” he said, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


End file.
